


Brooklyn Nights

by Dandee



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/F, Lesbian AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandee/pseuds/Dandee
Summary: Though Sasha comes from privilege, Shea is the only thing she's ever really wanted.





	1. Devil I Know

**Author's Note:**

> Lesbian AU! Sasha's husband is simply reffered to as Mister Velour, not Johnny. This whole fic was inspired by Cashmere Cat's "Quit" and Gaga's "Brooklyn Nights". Hope you all like it, I think this will probably be 5 chapters long, if all goes according to plan. A special thanks to my wonderful beta, dare. Without her this would be complete crap.

Sasha pulls her sleeves down over her knuckles, hugs her knees to her chest, and glances around the empty apartment. 

Well, it’s not exactly empty. It’s fully furnished, sure, and there’s a decent amount of what someone would describe as quality artwork hanging from the walls. Yes, there’s a television with surround-sound, and maybe a few Tiffany lamps, and a chaise lounge and a grand piano and alright, okay no, it’s not empty. It is, in fact, far from empty. Sasha’s apartment is far from empty.

But her apartment is person-less.

Mister Velour is gone.

He left like a storm, a whirlwind of shouting over broken cries, a hurricane of scathing accusations and malicious backlash that somehow left the apartment pristine. Everything looks as though it hasn't been touched, as though Mister Velour had never been there at all. There’s nothing visibly wrong with the picture; he’s taken nothing, but he’s taken everything. The storm is still there, brewing in Sasha’s mind.

She rests her cheek against the back of the couch and gazes at the door. It’s quiet without him. 

Peaceful. 

Not that he’s a bother. Yes, his constant chatter and clamouring could be a bit much at times, but she always sort of viewed that as his ‘artistic’ side. She has high regard for Mister Velour, through his ins and his outs, despite his flaws and lack-there-ofs. It had made sense to marry and start a business with him. He was a smart match for her; she was beautiful, and he was crazy about her. It had been regarded by all whom she’d considered close to her as a good move, to share her life with him and start a career.

Sasha has tried, throughout her life, to always make good decisions. 

So when she sees her phone light up at the end of the coffee table, she can't help smile at the irony. Shea.

Good decisions. Right.

She could ignore the call-- she could be done. She could sit on the couch and think about all that she’s ruined, wallow in the events arisen and figure out a way to ‘work on things’, as Mr.Velour had so eloquently put it. It wouldn't be too hard. He would take her back. 

She shakes her head at the familiar fluttering in her chest as she reaches to answer.

“Hey.”

A chuckle at the other end.

“Hello, devil I know,” Shea purrs, and Sasha can hear the smile forming on her lips through the phone. “I thought for a minute you weren't gonna answer.”

Sasha lets out a breath and runs a hand along the back of her neck. “You know I always do.”

A moment passes between them, and Sasha holds the phone closer, as if somehow it will bring Shea to her. She can feel the lump forming in her throat.

“I need to see you,” Shea says quietly. 

That’s the thing about Shea. However badly Sasha misses her, Shea misses her more. It’s hard to tell who’s in love with who. If that's even how it works. Sasha doesn't know.

Sasha says with a long sigh, “I want to see you too.”

“I'm in the city.”

Sasha’s breath hitches in her throat.

“You-- you are?” she asks incredulously, her heart thumping in her ears.

“Yeah,” Shea answers with a short breath of a laugh. “I, uh, I got a couple nights off.”

Sasha can only blink, her mouth agape. It’s been weeks. _Weeks_. Of all nights, her mistress comes to her city the night her husband leaves her. Divine intervention? 

“Sasha?”

“Yes! Yes. I'm sorry.” She breaks from her thoughts. “I just-- I can't believe you're here.”

“I know,” Shea says, and the blaring of traffic behind her grows louder, “I haven't been here in months.”

Months. Had it been months? Sasha had been to Chicago at least a few weeks ago, but Shea hadn’t been to New York in months? It was difficult to keep track.

“Can you get out tonight?” Shea asks.

Sasha bites her lip. Of course she can, she’s alone, but Shea doesn't know that. She doesn't need to know that. 

“I don't know, Shea, it’s not-- it’s not the best--”

“Please,” Shea cuts her off, and the desperation in her voice melts Sasha right to her core. “Please. I _need_ to see you. Even if it's only for an hour.”

“An hour?” Sasha raises a brow. “Seriously?”

“Maybe two.”

Sasha knows she’ll be out all night.

“Come on,” Shea pleads, and Sasha can feel herself giving in, just like she always does. “I got some friends of mine at a club off Fourth, and they really wanna meet you.”

“You have friends?” Sasha asks slyly, leaning back against the couch and draping a leg over the armrest.

“Yes, bitch. And I already told them you were coming, so don't make me look stupid.”

“I would never,” Sasha chuckles lightly, toying with the end of her skirt. “Is it a nice club?”

“What do you think?” Shea says, and Sasha can pretty much see her eyeroll. 

“Well, I don't know,” Sasha trails off, earning a huff of a breath from the other end of the line. She knows she’s just being annoying at this point-- of course she's going to meet Shea wherever the hell she is. Shea could probably call her and tell her to get on a plane and she’d do it. That didn't mean she couldn't play with her a bit.

“Look, just get here as soon as you can,” Shea says, and the sounds of the city in the backround grow impossibly louder. “I’ll drop you a pin.”

“I don't have anything to wear,” Sasha says, her last pseudo-protest slipping away from her.

“That's fine with me,” Shea replies coolly, and Sasha purses her lips as the call ends.

Cheeky bitch.

She sits and clings to the thought of staying home for a moment longer. It's what she should do. She's got an early morning, they’ve got a meeting with the bigwigs about publishing; this would definitely be a regret in the morning.

 _They._ Oh God, she’d almost forgotten.

She presses her fingers together just over the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. Of course he’ll be there, he’s CEO of the whole damn company. How could she forget? It was incredible, how easily she forgot about Mister Velour.

Unfair, really.

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. God, this was a shit show. Not only did she have to ‘work on things’ with this man, separate herself from him, but she had a career tied to him. A business. Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d built from the ground up was now on the line. All because she had to go and fuck it up. All because she couldn't cover her tracks.

The screen of her phone lights up. Shea’s pin.

Sasha sighs when she opens Maps. She’s not sure why she even thought Shea would be talking about Fourth in Manhattan. Of course she meant Fourth in Brooklyn. Shea loves Brooklyn. All of her friends live in Brooklyn. 

“Would you like me to call a car, Madam?”

Sasha fumbles to catch her phone as it flies from her hands. She whirls around and lets out an exasperated breath when her eyes fall on George, who polishes a glass absentmindedly while looking at her for an answer. His skin is pale and pasty in the lamplight, and the circles under his light blue eyes are dark.

“Jesus, George,” she chuckles, a palm coming to rest delicately over her chest to calm herself. “You scared me. I thought you’d already left.”

“Just finishing things in the kitchen, Madam,” he replies, eyeing her with mild suspicion. “Unless, of course, you wish me to leave.”

“No, no,” Sasha stammers, then rises from the couch. “I mean yes, do whatever you’d like. I don't mind finishing the rest.”

George frowns a bit, eyeing the glass. Sasha knows he won't leave without a spotless kitchen. Mister Velour has always run a tight ship, and George often overworked himself, trying to please him. She sighs and walks toward him, and as she gives him a warm smile, she gently takes the glass and pulls it from his hands. 

“Go home, dear. Get some sleep.”

Still frowning, George blinks and nods, shuffling his feet awkwardly as Sasha sets the glass on an end table. She pats him on the shoulder before slipping past toward the door, and he calls after her.

“Are you quite sure, Madam, that you wouldn't like me to call you a car for the night?”

“No, that's alright. I’m taking the subway.” She moves to do a once-over in the mirror and turns her slim figure to the side, considering a change from her button down and pencil skirt, and it's all she can do to to keep from rolling her eyes at George’s horrified expression. “And what did I say about listening in on my conversations?”

“I’m sorry… I couldn't help but overhear,” he says warily as he fiddles with his hands, taking a few steps closer to her. “But I must advise against it, Madam. I cannot, in good conscience, let you take the public transport at this time of night.”

“I’ll be fine, don't worry,” she assures him, pinning a loose strand of blonde hair back into her neat bun. She frowns at her reflection, tilting her head and worrying her bottom lip; maybe a little too neat? She undoes the pin and lets the curl fall back into her face again. It’ll have to do. No time for dawdling, not with George breathing down her neck.

“I insist, Madam,” he says as Sasha turns to pull her coat from the rack. He swiftly takes it from her and holds it open, yet continues his protests as she slips her arms through. “It isn't safe for you to walk the streets alone at night. A lady such as yourself-”

“Is perfectly capable of taking the subway,” Sasha finishes for him, fastening the belt of her coat around her waist. “I've got protection, don't worry,” she assures him, and this time she openly rolls her eyes at his look of shock. “Oh calm _down_ , it’s just a bit of pepper spray. I keep it in my purse. Seriously, it’s fine.”

George falters a bit. “Alright, very well then. Shall I at least make arrangements for your departure from… well… wherever you're going to be?”

Leave it to George to try and keep tabs. Sasha knows this game very well. 

“No, I’ll be getting home late,” she says, grabbing her purse off of the hook. “Now I mean it, George. I don't want you to be here when I get back. I want you home, in bed. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Good,” she says with a smile. She leans in to place a quick kiss on his cheek, then turns abruptly on her heel and heads out the door.

******

Sasha can’t help but feel a certain independence, sitting alone amongst strangers. She tries her best to blend in but doesn't-- she’s in her work clothes, white heels, and doesn’t even have a pair of earphones to pull out as a last attempt at looking normal. Not that she could, anyway-- her posture is basically chiseled into her spine at this point, so she sits completely upright, one leg crossed over the other, her Chanel bag gripped tightly in front of her. She tries not to be too obvious in her staring at her fellow passengers, but it’s not that kind of busy tonight, the kind of crowded where everyone’s shoulder to shoulder and in each other’s way. It’s not that kind of obstructive, compact space where you take in no detail of the people around you, no, there’s plenty of space on the train tonight, plenty of room for people to watch one another, to judge and make assumptions.

There’s a lady with her back turned to Sasha, wearing a short, summery dress, and she’s leaning against the pole. Actually, she’s leaning so fiercely that the pole has begun to slip in between her ass cheeks, and it’s spreading them unnaturally far apart, and Sasha’s doing her best to look away, but the thought of sanitation is making her inwardly cringe. 

Then there are a few kids further down doing flips in the hopes of making some kind of something, whether it’s cash or just being noticed. Sasha’s admittedly a bit more entertained than her fellow passengers, who only seem happy to avoid a kick in the face, and she cranes her neck a bit to see past parted-ass lady. One of the kids seems to be rapping, or singing, but it’s almost impossible to hear over the guy on the phone next to her.

She winces as he raises his voice, and she can’t help but imagine the person on the other end of the line as female. He’s angry about something-- he barely lets her get a breath in, much less a word. He barely takes a breath for himself, and his face turns red and a vein pops out of his forehead as he continues to yell about something not getting done, about being lied to, and it all starts sounding too familiar to Sasha. His eyes randomly meet hers and she jumps a bit, peeling her eyes away and looking at her hands. Thankfully, she feels the inertial pull as the train slows to a stop, and she’s somehow one of the first to hurry out of the sliding doors.

It’s a cold, rainy night, and Sasha flips the collar of her coat upward to cover her neck, inwardly cursing herself for rushing out without a scarf. Her heels click against the wet pavement as she makes her way down the street, and she suddenly can't stop thinking about Mister Velour. How angry he was, how despairing his voice sounded as it reverberated through their home, bouncing off the marble pillars in the hall. The way he’d paced in front of her while she’d sat on the couch, unable to offer him any words of comfort.

_He stopped his movements for a moment, a fist coming to press hard against his mouth. He looked at her with such abandon, such intensity that he was hardly recognizable._

_”Do you love her?”_

_Sasha blinked for a moment, and cast her eyes downward. Her breathing grew shallow as she thumbed the end of her skirt, unable to speak._

_“Sasha?”_

“Sasha!”

That deep, velvety voice pulls her from her thoughts. Sasha snaps her head up and there she is, in all of her street-walker glory-- Shea, in a bright pink coat and a next-to-nothing leotard underneath, with neon boots that go all the way up to her armpits and a headband to match. Her sleek black hair sways behind her as she dashes across the street toward Sasha, and Sasha doesn’t even know she’s running until she meets her in the middle.

Sasha forgets everything when she’s circled tightly in Shea’s arms. Her eyes fall shut, her eyebrows scrunch together and she hides the rest of her face in Shea’s ostrich-feathered coat, and Shea’s arms are firm around her shoulders as they cling to each other, swaying like fools in the middle of the street.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Shea murmurs into her hair, and Sasha’s hands try to pull her closer, her fingers splaying across Shea’s back. She says nothing, but Shea knows. Shea always knows.

Shea tilts her head and brings Sasha’s face up to meet hers with the tip of her finger, and their eyes lock, blue meeting brown. Suddenly Shea’s face falls, and her eyes begin to search Sasha’s. 

“Hey, are you-- are you okay?”

Sasha nods and her eyes cast downward, but Shea’s hand catches her cheek and coaxes her gaze back upward, her eyes now filled with worry.

“No you’re not. What’s wrong?” Shea asks, and she turns her palm to brush Sasha’s cheek with the back of her knuckles, then jumps a bit and brings her other hand to the other cheek. “Oh, you’re cold.”

“I’m always cold,” Sasha says quietly.

“Where’s your car? Where’d you park?” Shea pulls back a bit and looks over her shoulder, her eyes darting around for Sasha’s car.

“I don’t have it,” Sasha says, frowning against the brisk wind and pulling the top of her coat tighter. “I took the subway.”

Shea’s eyes bulge. “You took the F?”

She nods.

“Oh, baby, no,” Shea says with a furrowed brow, and places her hands on Sasha’s shoulders. “At this time of night? That’s dangerous.”

Sasha scoffs lightly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You do it all the time.”

“That’s different. I’m from Chicago.”

“Well, I’m from Moscow.”

Silence.

“But you’re little,” Shea says softly, then sighs and pulls Sasha back into her arms, resting her chin atop her head. “I just don’t want you to walk by yourself at night. I wish you would've said something, I would’ve came and got you.”

Arms still folded, Sasha buries her face into Shea’s neck. They stay like that for a moment.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Shea asks in a soft voice.

“‘m fine,” Sasha mumbles into her neck, then pulls back to look up at her. Shea is always such a beautiful sight, her brown eyes dark next to her glimmering eye makeup, her pouty lips that could turn into a crooked smile in the blink of an eye. 

“You sure?” Shea asks again, concern evident in her features.

Sasha nods, holding her gaze. She then admits in a small voice, “I’m just really glad you're here.”

Shea’s expression softens, and she runs her thumb along Sasha's cheek. She bends to place a soft kiss to the corner of Sasha’s mouth, and Sasha’s eyes flutter closed as she smiles into Shea’s lips. Her arms glide up to curl around Shea’s neck while she stands on her toes and deepens the kiss, and Shea gives a soft laugh and she’s kissing her back, her hands falling to Sasha’s waist and pulling her closer. 

Sasha loves the soft familiarity of it, how easily she fits into Shea's embrace. It’s so fluid, so simple, really. It’s as if the rest of the world melts away-- everything around Sasha seems to dissipate when her lips touch Shea’s. 

A car horn blares. Sasha jumps and pulls back to stare into a pair of bright headlights, idling impatiently beside her.

“Get out of the fuckin’ road!” the little bald man leans his head out of the window to shout, and leans on his horn again. 

Shea frowns into the headlights for a moment, then smiles curtly and holds a middle finger high in the air. “Fuck off, asshole!”

“Fuck you, lady!” the guy hollers back, and he inches his car closer toward them. 

“Oh my God,” Sasha ducks her head out of the light, utterly mortified. Shea only laughs and takes Sasha’s hand, moving them out of the street and onto the sidewalk. The guy rushes past them with a still blaring horn and his middle finger hanging out the window, and Shea, too, holds her finger up until the car turns onto the next street, then turns to Sasha and laughs.

“God, I missed Brooklyn.”

Sasha shakes her head. “You’re insane.”

Shea smiles and takes her bag, looping it through her arm, then laces her fingers with Sasha’s. “Come on, let's get you warm,” she says as she leads her to the entrance of what looks like a very abandoned building. 

“Wait, what are we-- is this the club?” Sasha stammers, slowing her pace and pulling against Shea.

“Yeah, come on.” Shea tilts her head toward the door.

“But it’s--” Sasha furrows her brow in confusion, feet rooted to the sidewalk, “--is there anyone here?”

Looking at the entrance, you wouldn't really think there was. It’s an older, unkept one story building, with dirty pebbled-brick and vine growing up the side. Then there’s this bright red door that looks like it should be leading to a closet or an outdoor bathroom, and that’s where Shea’s trying to take them.

Shea chuckles and grabs Sasha’s other hand, continuing to walk backwards to the door. “What, you don’t trust me?”

Sasha rolls her eyes and reluctantly follows. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Shea stops just shy of the door, a devilish gleam in her eye as she pulls the blonde closer. Her breath tickles Sasha’s ear.

“You probably shouldn’t do a lot of things.”

Sasha says nothing when her gaze meets Shea’s, but Shea doesn’t seem to mind either way, and she pushes the red door open and pulls Sasha inside with her.

“Whoa.”

Sasha’s stunned at the difference-- she grips Shea’s hand tightly as she follows her down a long hallway, with black and white floor and red velvet walls, illuminated by lanterns that hang from the ceiling. The walls are littered with glamour shots of people that Sasha’s never seen before, all framed and signed. There’s a guy at the end of the hall standing in front of another door, also painted red, and Sasha can hear the faint beat of a fast-paced song behind it. The guy gives Shea a short nod as they near the door, but eyes Sasha keenly, like he’s not sure she belongs.

“She’s with me,” Shea says coolly, and offers a folded bill that Sasha can’t quite make out between her fingers.

The man takes the bill and pockets it, then touches his finger to his earpiece and mutters something over his shoulder. After a quick “copy that”, he turns his gaze back to Sasha. Giving her a once over, he raises a brow and reaches for the handle of the door.

“Welcome to Red Door, ladies.”

Shea gives Sasha’s hand a reassuring squeeze before leading them through.

The odd music resonates throughout the room, as well as the dull hum of conversation and the faint clinking of glasses. It’s not too crowded-- and the black and white tile continues into the bar area, and the walls are still red, still covered in framed black and white photos. There are a few exotic-looking women scattered about the bar, all dressed much more like Shea than Sasha. In fact, it seems like every woman in the room is stunningly beautiful, with legs and ass for days.

“Here, lemme take your coat,” Shea says as she shimmies out of her pink jacket and tosses it over her elbow.

Sasha feels self-conscious as she undoes the belt of her coat. Her eyes roam over Shea’s almost Herculean figure-- taught and strapping, yet still feminine against the tight material of her black leotard, from the dip in her waist to the curve of her thighs. Shea’s dressed far more appropriately for this kind of environment than Sasha is, she’s dressed more like almost everyone else in the bar, and Sasha shakes her head as she slips out of her coat.

“I knew I should’ve changed,” she mutters as she hands her coat to Shea, and smoothes the front of her skirt mindfully.

Shea furrows her brow and looks her over. “Why? You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, but I--” Sasha lets out a breath of a laugh, and begins to fumble with the buttons of her shirt. “I don’t really look like I belong here.”

Sasha loosens the top of her button-down and straightens her collar, and when she moves to unbutton the cuff of her sleeve, Shea’s hand comes to gently lay over her wrist. Sasha’s eyes drift upward to meet her gaze, and though Shea speaks firmly, she flashes her that crooked smile.

“You belong anywhere with me.”

With a shy smile, Sasha nods and takes Shea’s hand, following her to the coat check.


	2. Let Me Paint You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha steps into Shea's world for a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first song that plays while Betty paints is Fantasy for the Violin by Joshua Bell, and the song Sasha paints to is 9 by Cashmere Cat. Just in case anyone cares. Shout out to my cranial bleeding twin, dare, for being the best beta in this plane of existence and the next (If you haven’t read her fic already you are SERIOUSLY missing out, and you should back click out of this dumpster and read it now).

_Sasha swirled her ice cubes slowly, studying the wood grain of the bar through the bottom of her glass. It had been another one of those days, another one of those god-awful meetings. It was hard to understand how she, the editor-in-chief of Velour Magazine, could still be completely run over and treated like she wasn’t even there. She wondered if it had anything to do with being a woman, or better yet, a woman married to the CEO._

_She knew there was a general lack of respect for her, and frankly, the feeling was mutual. Most of them were polite and civil to her face, but Sasha could hear the snickering behind her back. She tried not to let it get to her-- she was, after all, in the position that they all envied-- but at times it was difficult to feel proud of her work. She couldn't help but wonder how much of the position she’d actually earned and how much was given to her by Mister Velour. Of course, whenever she would mention these concerns, she’d receive nothing but a pat on the hand and a kiss on the cheek._

_A deep laugh from the other end of the bar pulled Sasha from her thoughts. She smiled to herself and continued to swirl her ice cubes._

_Would she ever grow tired of that laugh?_

_She’d been good, resisting the urge to stare like she used to. Instead, she’d developed the habit of staring into her glass, or at the television conveniently located behind the bar. Seeing people without ever really looking at them was a skill she’d developed at a young age. She’d already programmed the young woman’s figure into her mind, instinctively recognizing her silhouette from across the room. Sasha had listened to each and every word that fell from her pouty lips, had learned every rise and fall in the tone of her voice. She had watched this woman, even picked up her name-- Shea-- but she’d never spoken more than two words to her._

_Which was absolutely fine. Sasha was married, to a man-- a very powerful, successful man. And Shea was probably taken-- not that it mattered. Sasha shook her head._

_She was content with the look-don't-touch concept, regardless of either of their situations. Sasha simply enjoyed staying at this hotel, coming to this little bar, and watching this particular bartender-- there was no crime in that. If she was going to spend her money and tip someone, it might as well be someone she liked._

_She could see Shea drifting down the bar, heading in her direction. Tracing her fingers lightly along the lip of her glass, Sasha calmly averted her eyes to the television in front of her. She kept her eyes glued to the screen as Shea stopped in front of her._

_“You want another one?”_

_Sasha nodded silently, pretending to be very interested in ESPN._

_Sasha watched Shea’s slender arms stretch for the top shelf, fumbling to reach the McAllan Eighteen in the far right corner. Shea’s ass was a work of art; the dip in her lower back that led to the curve of it was incredible, and it wiggled with every twist of her body, bounced every time she reached for the bottle. And her legs-- those legs were no less than perfect, long and toned, smooth like butter. Sasha tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in thought-- her inseam had to be at least thirty-six? Surely she’d modeled, at least for catalog. High waisted pants came to Sasha’s mind-- a particular pair from the Marc Jacobs collection, with a black lace pattern and a high ankle that would accentuate the length of her. The problem was just getting Shea’s ass into them-- though she was fit, an inseam of thirty-six usually wouldn’t accommodate a hip more than thirty-four._

_Shea turned her head and caught Sasha’s eye._

_Sasha turned her gaze back to her glass. She immediately chastised herself for not re-gluing her eyes to the television-- now she looked officially guilty, with her head down like a child. Her cheeks flushed as she swirled her ice cubes nervously. She felt Shea stepping toward her and could see her fingers resting on the grate on the bar, a hand at either side of Sasha’s space. Her eyes slowly drifted upward to meet Shea’s gaze, and her dark eyes bored into Sasha’s. They stayed like that for a moment._

_Shea leaned forward, a smirk gracing her lips._

_“Does it have to be that bottle? Or can I go for the twelve year?”_

_Sasha was lost for words-- Shea’s eyes cut right through her and left her feeling unsure of herself. So she just nodded._

_Shea’s gaze lingered a bit before she turned back around, the arch in her back seemingly more defined this time. She whipped her hair around the other side of her shoulder when she grabbed the bottle of McAllan Twelve off of a considerably lower shelf. Cocking her hip to the side, her knee rested on the cabinet beneath as she examined the bottle. She was doing it on purpose now and Sasha couldn’t help herself-- her eyes roamed over Shea’s figure, the curves in her hips and the thickness of her thighs mesmerizing. After a moment, Shea glanced over her shoulder at Sasha, who desperately tried to peel her eyes away again. Shea’s smirk grew into a full smile as she turned to place the bottle in front of her._

_“You have good taste,” Shea said smugly, unscrewing the cap and setting it next to the bottle._

_Sasha blinked and swallowed hard, feeling her body shift under Shea’s gaze. She smiled shyly and looked into her lap._

_“It’s Sasha, right?”_

_Her head snapped up at her name. Shea chuckled and turned to look for a fresh glass._

_“You come here a lot,” Shea said, and she ran her fingers along the glasses on the middle shelf. “Why?”_

_Sasha shrugged her shoulders and spoke before she could think. “I like this hotel.”_

_Shea glanced over her shoulder with a slightly widened eye, like she was surprised Sasha had actually answered. Hell, Sasha was surprised._

_“There are plenty of hotels in Chicago,” Shea continued skeptically, and turned back to the shelf in search of a glass, running her fingers to a lower shelf. “What’s so special about this one?”_

_Sasha leaned forward in her seat, looking down the bar. The couple at the far end were finished with their drinks, looking like they were ready to leave soon. This definitely wasn’t the first time Sasha had closed down Shea’s bar, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last-- but Shea normally never offered another drink this late. Sasha turned her attention back to her and almost fell out of her seat._

_Shea, with legs straight and shoulder width apart, had gone to the bottom of the cabinet for a glass, her back completely flattened and her ass on full display, the very bottom of her cheeks peeking out of her black dress shorts._

_“I...uh,” Sasha stammered, blinking rapidly and speaking again before she could collect her thoughts. “I guess you could say I’m a creature of habit.”_

_Shea pulled a glass out of the cabinet, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder and catching Sasha’s eye as she slowly came back up. She chuckled again and tossed a couple of ice cubes into the glass, then sauntered back toward Sasha with a little more swing in her hips._

_“Now, why don’t I believe that?” Shea asked as she leaned on the bar._

_Sasha gave a short laugh through her nose and folded her arms, meeting Shea’s flirty gaze with a smile she couldn't help. “I mean, you should. I’m here every weekend.”_

_Shea gave a slow nod, taking the bottle of scotch and turning it upside down over the glass. “True.”_

_“And I always get the same thing,” Sasha said, eyeing Shea as she turned to place the bottle back on the shelf._

_“You do,” Shea said with her back to Sasha. She stood in front of the shelf for a moment with her hands on her hips._

_Sasha noticed how her shirt stretched across her back, how her muscles bulged through the dark fabric as she reached for another bottle. Shea leaned her knee against the shelf, the arch in her back even more defined, and Sasha didn’t try to hide her staring this time. Shea was clearly trying to start something, and Sasha couldn’t stop herself from indulging._

_Because there was something about the way Shea was looking at her, the way that crooked smile of hers completely melted Sasha. Shea smiled at her and Sasha forgot who she was pretending to be. Shea smiled at her and she forgot all of her lines._

_“And you’re always the last one here,” Shea said as she turned back to Sasha, a bottle of Disaronno in hand. The corners of her mouth turned upward as she unscrewed the cap, setting it on the grate. “Not that I mind.”_

_Sasha frowned slightly as she watched Shea defile her drink with a topper of the amaretto._

_“But ‘creature of habit’? I don’t know if I believe that,” Shea said with a smirk and set the bottle down on the grate. “Something tells me,” she pushed the drink toward Sasha, “that you like to try new things.”_

_Fascinated by the darkening of Shea’s eyes, Sasha smiled and wordlessly took the drink, gazing at her over the glass as she took the first sip._

“Cheers,” Shea says, raising her glass to clink against Sasha’s.

It’s a swanky little lounge-- the music is odd but enjoyable as it flows through the room at a tolerable volume, making it easy enough to have a conversation. It is, however, too crowded to snag a bar stool-- so instead of sitting, the two women just post up in the corner of the room, with Shea leaning against the bar and gazing at Sasha with a relaxed smile.

“How’s work?” she asks.

Sasha pauses for a moment, pressing her lips together uncomfortably. She acknowledges the formality of it-- when you haven’t seen someone in awhile, you ask about easy things, like work or the weather. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any easier to answer, so she simply nods with narrowed eyes and tilts her head. 

Shea raises a brow as she pinches her straw. “Yeah?”

Damn Shea. She knows. She always knows.

“Yeah.” Sasha sips from her glass, the sweet amaretto tickling her lips. She can feel Shea’s interrogating stare and she continues to gaze at her ice cubes as she speaks. “I mean, you know-- my employees still hate me. I can't get a word in. Nothing’s changed there.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Shea’s expression soften in sympathy, and she reaches to tuck a loose curl behind Sasha’s ear. “Don't pay them any mind.”

“I know,” Sasha nods, her eyes meeting Shea’s. “It’s just getting old.”

Shea gives a tight smile and Sasha glances back to her ice. She hates talking about work with Shea. Even if they try and tiptoe around bringing up Mister Velour, he’s always there, always hanging in the air. 

“Ayo sis!”

Sasha glances up to see a younger woman running toward them, with lavender hair tousled in a finger-wave style. Her bright blue heels, which match her latex dress, click against the tile as she bounds toward Shea.

“Oh, yes bitch!” Shea erupts into laughter and pulls the girl into a tight hug.

“Bitch, what’s _tea_?” The girl jumps excitedly as she pulls away and clasps Shea’s hands in her own. “Where have you been? It’s been forever!”

“Girl, I know. I've just been workin-”

“Hol’ up!” The girl’s eyes widen when they fall to Sasha, and a smile spreads across her lips as she drops Shea's hands. “Is this her?”

Sasha looks from Shea to the girl, feeling a bit awkward. Shea just smiles and nods. “Yeah, um, this is-”

“Oh my God! Hey!” The girl immediately pulls Sasha into an unwarranted hug. “It’s Sasha, right?”

Sasha looks over the girl’s shoulder to Shea, who shrugs. Sasha gives a small grin and tries to return the girl’s enthusiasm as best she can. “Yes! Yes, it’s Sasha-”

“Aja!” The girl exclaims as she pulls back, taking Sasha’s hand and shaking it fiercely. “Girl I’m so glad you came, I’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Oh, really? That's so sweet-”

“Shea, you didn’t tell me she was a fuckin’ model.” Aja accuses suddenly, then raises one of Sasha’s arms in the air and steps back, giving her a once-over. “Come on mama, give us a little spin!”

Sasha chuckles shyly and shrugs her shoulders, holding on to Aja’s hand as she awkwardly twirls beneath it. The girl squeals and snaps her fingers as she watches her.

“Yes! I love your aesthetic, girl. The white button down with the pencil skirt, it’s sexy. Very ‘hot for teacher’.” Aja then loops her arm through Sasha’s, looking to Shea with a smirk. “You better watch it, sis, I might steal her from you.”

Sasha laughs when she catches Shea's unamused expression, but she stays beside Aja, their arms linked, already feeling a little more comfortable around her.

Shea shakes her head. “Aja’s been lookin’ for a sugar mama for the last two years. Watch out.”

“You fuckin’ right I am!” Aja laughs, patting Sasha’s arm and letting it go. “Come on, we got some really good spots tonight, right in the front, and I don’t wanna lose ‘em. Y'all comin’ downstairs?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess we’d better,” Shea says, pulling her phone from her cleavage to check the time. She glances at Sasha and gives her a wink. “The show’s about to start.”

Sasha furrows her brow and looks between the two of them. “Show? What show?”

Shea bites her straw with an impish grin. “You’ll see.”

****

Walking into the lower level of the club is like walking into an entirely different building. The whole room is a dance floor- a _giant_ dance floor, with a small bar in the very middle and a stage with a large white canvas set up over a tarp in the far corner. It’s harder to make conversation here-- the bass pumps through the speakers and into Sasha’s chest, and she grips Shea’s arm just a little tighter than she normally would as they make their way down the stairs.

Specks of neon light dance across the darkened room and over the sea of arms below, and Sasha smiles awkwardly as she scoots past the necking couples and confused, drunk looking individuals that litter the stairs. Aja suddenly stops in front of them and waves to a pretty woman with long braids standing in front of the stage. Once the woman sees Aja and Shea, she jumps excitedly and waves back. 

The woman lets out a scream of laughter when they make it to the front of the crowd, and she runs to Shea and hugs her.

“Shea! Oh my God!” the woman coos as she sways with Shea and rubs her back. “It’s been so long!”

“I know, I missed you,” Shea says with a laugh. She pulls back and beams at the woman, then looks to Sasha and motions toward her.

“Peppermint, this is Sasha.”

Sasha grins and leans in to shake the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hey girl! I’ve heard all about you,” Peppermint takes her hand and returns her smile warmly, then gives her a wink. “All good things, don't worry.”

Shea rolls her eyes and snakes an arm around Sasha’s waist. “Pep’s one of my best friends, we go _way_ back.”

Peppermint nods at Sasha, placing her hands on her hips and squinting in thought. “Yeah, it’s been what,” she glances to Shea, “ten years? Eleven?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Too long,” Shea laughs. 

Sasha sips her drink and listens to the two of them catch up, and she can’t help but smile at the way Shea lights up around her friends. She also relishes in the affection Shea so absentmindedly demonstrates -- Shea’s not usually one for PDA, but tonight she’s different. Tonight she’s running her hand along Sasha’s waist, she’s toying with the fabric of her shirt, she’s making small circles with her fingertips on her back. Sasha finds herself leaning into her touch and feeling very comfortable, more comfortable than she’s felt over the long weeks without her. She finds herself relaxing enough to even joke around with Aja, who seems eager to get to know her.

“Shea said you’re into art,” Aja says, her eyes drifting to meet Peppermint’s.

Sasha nods eagerly. “Yeah, I am. I paint in my free time.”

“Oh nice!” Peppermint says, giving Aja a wink. “So you’re excited about the show, then?”

“Actually,” Sasha chuckles and looks to Shea with a raised brow, “I didn’t know there was one.”

“Oh.” Peppermint suppresses a smile and shifts her gaze to Shea, who makes a face. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and Sasha narrows her eyes as she looks between the three of them.

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aja exclaims with a wave of her hands. “It’s just-- it’s just an art show, and it’s really good. You’re gonna love it.”

“Yeah! It’s gonna be awesome,” Peppermint adds hurriedly, nodding her head. “Betty’s shows are legendary.”

Still not entirely convinced, Sasha looks to Shea, who just shrugs her shoulders innocently and bats her lashes. Sasha can feel her own smile forming as she looks into Shea’s mischievous eyes.

“Hey ladies.”

Sasha turns to see another woman approaching them, with shorter braids and a longer face. She suddenly feels Shea’s body tense, her grip tightening around Sasha’s waist. The other girls react similarly-- Peppermint’s smile falls from her face, and she shifts her weight back and forth anxiously, while Aja seems to puff up a bit, poking her chest out and lifting her chin with an obvious frown. Sasha looks between the four of them, blinking uncertainly at the awkward silence that’s arisen.

“Hey- hey Nina,” Peppermint says slowly, glancing to the other girls briefly before continuing. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know.” Nina shrugs, a sour expression on her face. “A little of this, a little of that.” Her stony gaze drifts to Aja, and she folds her arms and cocks her hip. “Hey Aja.”

Aja places a hand on her hip and flips her hair, returning Nina’s gaze without a smile. “Hey.”

“Mm.” Nina smirks, and her eyes flicker to Shea. “Miss Shea Coulee, I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Well I am,” Shea replies, curt.

Sasha glances to Shea, surprised by her unfriendly demeanor, but Shea just stares back at Nina with eyes like ice. 

“Where you been hidin’ at, sister?” Nina then asks, giving her a once over with a raised brow. “Haven't seen you in awhile, you too good for Brooklyn now? Or you just too broke to make it out here-- I hear times are hard in Chicago.”

Shea laughs hollowly, and she smiles. “Oh no, honey, I’m doing just fine. I’ve been _working_. At, you know, a _job_?”

A grin spreads across Nina’s face as she nods. She laughs a bit, then stops as her eyes fall on Sasha, and she tilts her head as she studies her. 

“Oh, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Shea says nothing but continues to glare at Nina, and Sasha watches as Pep and Aja exchange a look. Pep takes a step forward. “Umm, Nina, this is Sasha.”

“Sasha?” The woman’s smile grows wider, and she holds out a hand. “I’m Nina.”

Sasha glances to Shea. When no immediate reaction comes, she takes Nina’s hand with a gracious smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Are you the new girlfriend?”

Sasha blinks for a moment and slowly retracts her hand. She can hear Shea’s deep intake of breath.

“Alright.” Shea shakes her head and steps toward Nina. “That’s enough-”

“No no--,” Nina stammers, then chuckles as she folds her arms again. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to put a face to a name. You’re--” Nina squints and points a finger at Sasha. “You’re the one that’s married, right?”

Sasha doesn’t have time to react, because Shea does it for her.

In a matter of seconds, Shea’s made it to Nina and has her by the shirt, against the wall, hissing into her scrunched up face while Nina squirms and sputters obscenities. Aja’s next to lightning in the way she jams herself between the two of them and tries to push them apart, and Pep instinctively grabs Sasha’s arm and holds her in place.

“-outta my business you fuckin’ psycho ass bitch--”

“-get the _fuck_ off me’--”

“-ay! Ay, break it up! Stop--”

A few people start to notice and circle around them, and it gets loud, everyone starts jeering for a fight.

“-if you can’t handle it like it is--”

“-oh I’ll handle it Nina, and I _oughtta_ whoop yo mothafuckin’ ass--”

“-let go of me, bitch--”

“-ay! Ayy! Shea, stop!”

Aja’s been thrown to the side twice by Shea, and Pep eventually lets go of Sasha to grab Shea by the back of her leotard, locking her arms behind her. 

Shea struggles against her roughly and Pep looks quickly to Sasha, who, not knowing what else to do, sets her drink on the stage and moves in front of Shea, placing a hand on either of her shoulders. Aja seizes the moment and pushes Nina out of the circle, and Sasha can hear her profanities until they hit the exit. A long, disappointed “awww” emits from the newly gathered crowd, and they slowly dissipate. 

“And that’s why no one fucks with you!” Shea shouts after Nina, and Sasha stays in front of her.

“Shea-- Shea!” Sasha gasps and pushes against her.

“Let me go--”

_”Shea.”_

Sasha grabs her face with both hands and looks at her directly. Shea quiets for a moment, her eyes still wide. Sasha gently brushes her fingertips against her cheeks and speaks to her softly. “Hey. It’s over.”

Shea blinks back at her.

After a moment Sasha presses her forehead against Shea's, and she watches the  
younger woman close her eyes. Shea gives a sigh and stands still, breathing deeply, seeming to collect herself. She eventually gives a loose shake of her shoulders. 

“Thanks, Pep, I’m good.”

Peppermint lets go of her arms, and Sasha pulls back, letting her arms fall to her sides. Shea sighs and shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “Man, I hate that bitch.”

“Damn, Shea, you gotta chill,” Pep says with a huff of a breath. “I'm not trying to get kicked out before the show starts.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shea says, eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. I'm good now.”

“You’re shaking,” Sasha says quietly, laying a hand over Shea’s arm.

“It’s fine-- I'm fine.”

At the harshness in Shea’s tone Sasha retracts her arm and casts her gaze downward. She notices Shea’s hand clenching in and out of a fist. 

Whoever that girl was-- Nina-- Sasha could slap her for ruining what was beginning to feel like a perfect night. She sighs as she takes her drink from the stage and hands it to Shea. 

Her heart sinks when Shea finally looks at her.

God, she hates that look.

It’s that look she gets sometimes when Sasha’s phone rings and she rejects it. That look when Sasha starts to pack her suitcase in the morning. That same look that she sees from the back of the taxi, when Shea’s standing on the sidewalk, watching Sasha go, all the way until her cab turns the corner.

Shea takes the drink and sips it, nodding some silent form of thanks. Sasha shifts her gaze back to the floor, a wave of guilt washing over her.

That’s when the lights go out-- completely out, and the crowd roars.

Sasha’s hands immediately seek out something to hold onto, and she stumbles a bit until she feels Shea’s hand on her hip, pulling her closer. Sasha latches to her and her eyes widen in the dark, trying to make out the figures around her.

“I got you,” she hears Shea holler over the screaming crowd, her hand firm on Sasha's waist. 

Sasha clings to her side as a dim purple light fades onto the stage. The crowd grows even louder when fog billows in from the wings and the canvas on stage is illuminated. 

Sasha spots Aja cheering and pushing herself back through the crowd.

“Did I miss anything?” she calls to Shea, an excited smile planted on her face.

Shea shakes her head. “No, it’s just starting.” 

The audience goes crazy when the woman Sasha assumes is Betty steps onto the stage.

This woman is unlike anything Sasha’s ever seen before. Betty comes out in a biohazard suit, white and zipped up to her neck, sans the helmet, carrying two small buckets of paint in each hand. Not that there was any way a helmet could fit over the horse-like mane Betty sports, vibrantly pink with dark purple tips, sprouting from the top of her head and falling all the way down her back like a spiky neon mohawk. 

Her makeup is just as colorful, if not borderline extraterrestrial, and she flashes the audience a bright smile as she takes center stage, holding the buckets high above her. The crowd goes wild with cheers. Aja, beside Sasha, jumps and snaps her fingers in the air, yelling along with them.

Betty's smile disappears and her arms drop immediately as the music begins.

She walks to the canvas and kneels in front of it while a slow, melancholy clarinet begins to flow through the speakers and fill the room. The crowd hushes as Betty sets down the buckets and picks up a brush, holding it against her forehead dramatically, her back to the audience, and she sits in tableau for a moment.

A violin begins to play and Betty rises up, floating around the stage in ballerina fashion.

She turns back to the canvas and dips the brush in blue, flinging it across the canvas in short diagonal lines. The somber music continues and Betty picks up another brush, dipping it in yellow and bringing it against the opposite corner of the canvas in a circular motion. She grabs a different brush with red, and another with neon green, and she moves the both of them along the painting, and eventually she grabs all of them and splatters the paint, dipping them in the buckets and roughly flinging the brushes as the music begins to swell. 

After a moment the music calms, and Betty drifts across the stage again, pulling another round of applause from the crowd, and she jumps into a pirouette center-stage. Sasha watches as she spins madly, and midway through her pirouette she pulls two different cans of spray paint from the pockets of her jumpsuit. She sprays them into the air above her as the music intensifies, then stops abruptly and runs to the canvas as the violin picks back up.

She sprays with abandon, her arms flying manically above her, bright pink and orange scattering across the canvas, metallic gloss sweeping over the shining bursts of color.

The violin hits the last bit, the wild and beautifully wretched finale. Betty paints with the roughness of the music, the sadness of it, slewing her last touches across the canvas, and Sasha’s mouth is agape at how marvelous it’s turned out, how this piece of art was born in only a matter of minutes. Betty strokes a bright blue against the canvas one last time, then throws the brush and grabs the entire thing, turning it upside down to reveal a vibrantly colored silhouette of a cello.

The music takes its final bar and Betty stands next to the canvas, her chest rising and falling heavily, and with the final chop of the violin, she holds her arms out and throws her head back. 

The crowd erupts into applause.

Sasha lets go of Shea’s arm to clap with them, and she smiles at Aja, who jumps with excitement and beams back at her.

“That was fucking awesome, right?” Aja yells, nudging Sasha’s arm with her elbow.

Sasha nods, pressing her palms together and gazing back up at the painting in admiration. “So amazing!” 

Betty bows a few times, uttering silent words of thanks to the audience. She clicks on her headset and holds her hands in the air.

“Brooklyn, how the fuck you feelin’ tonight?”

Applause and cheers boom through the crowd. 

A smile spreads across Betty's face as she nods. “This is Red Door, bitches. I’m Betty, and I’m gonna be taking you all on a trip tonight.”

Betty pulls another can from her jumpsuit and sprays above her head dramatically, eliciting more applause and shouting from the audience. She laughs and throws the can into the crowd.

“Are you bitches ready to play with me?”

Aja snaps her fingers above her head and hollers. Sasha grins, and she gives in and joins her, clapping eagerly. When she turns her attention back to the stage, however, she finds Betty looking down at her. 

“I need one person--” Betty says, her eyes locked with Sasha’s, and the crowd goes crazy again. Betty gives her a wink before turning away and waving a hand across the audience, looking out and narrowing her eyes. People in the front row jump up and down with their hands in the air, screaming to be picked. She twiddles her fingers as she comes back down the stage, and a smile creeps onto her face as her gaze falls back to Sasha. She stops, standing with a hand on her hip and points directly to her.

“You.”

Sasha’s eyes bulge, and she whips her head around, looking behind her frantically for the person she desperately hoped Betty was pointing to. 

Aja grabs her shoulder and jumps up and down. “That’s _you_ , bitch!”

Sasha turns to Shea and finds her with a hand over her mouth, hiding a guilty smile.

“Did you--” Sasha pokes her in the side. At Shea’s laugh, Sasha presses her fingertips to her cheeks and shakes her head rapidly. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Betty’s voice booms over the microphone. “You. _Blondie_. I’m talkin’ to you.”

“Get up there, girl!” Pep giggles, patting Sasha on the shoulder.

Sasha looks back up to Betty, the shouting of the crowd around her almost deafening. The woman crooks her finger and smiles down at Sasha.

“Come on, don’t be shy. I won’t bite.”

A few people in the crowd wolf-whistle.

Sasha breathes deeply, her cheeks hot. 

“You don’t have to,” Shea says to her with a reassuring smile, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Sasha glares at Shea from under her lashes. Of course she does; she’d look like a frigid bitch if she didn’t. She purses her lips and pulls away from Shea.

The crowd grows impossibly louder when Sasha hoists herself onto the stage. Betty comes over immediately to help her to her feet, and Sasha smoothes the front of her skirt nervously as she stands.

“Oh, nanny nine-one-one,” Betty drawls, taking a step back to give her a once-over.

Sasha looks into the crowd-- it’s hard to see any faces, with the spotlight shining brightly into her eyes. She can only really make out a few people in the very front, Shea thankfully being one of them. Though Sasha might be a little annoyed, it’s still comforting to see her in the crowd, smiling up at her. 

Betty throws an arm around Sasha. “Now, what’s your name?”

Sasha swallows the lump in her throat and manages to speak.

“Sasha.”

“Sasha? Okay, and where are you from?”

“I live in Manhattan.”

“Manhattan?” Betty repeats with a raised brow. A few lone hollers come from random parts of the crowd, and Betty nods her head and blinks slowly. “Of course you do.”

Sasha can feel her cheeks turning even pinker. Why, _why_ didn’t she change this fucking outfit before she left?

Betty continues with a smirk. “Have you ever been here before?”

Sasha shakes her head, and a few more sporadic cheers echo through the room.

“First time! Awesome.” Betty flashes her a smile as she reaches in her pocket for a paintbrush. She shoves it into Sasha’s hand and pats her shoulder. “Well, Sasha, are you ready to have some fun?”

The audience starts shouting again, and Sasha can see Aja’s tiny frame jumping up and down. She nods. Then Betty clicks her headset off and the lights dim.

“Okay, so Shea said you paint?” Betty says in a much more natural tone. Sasha nods and rolls up her sleeves.

“So all we’re doing is speedpainting, okay?” Betty continues, and they make their way toward the canvas. “I’m basically gonna give you the reigns. You just need to start doing something, and I’ll come behind you, and I’ll add to it.”

“Okay,” Sasha says with a nervous smile. “Okay-- thanks.”

“Yeah no problem,” Betty says quickly, picking up a paint brush and wiping it on the tarp beneath them. “It’s just a big free-for-all, but we gotta make it sexy. Shouldn’t be too hard,” she adds with a wink, and brings the paintbrush to her forehead again dramatically, freezing in a pose.

Sasha follows her lead and strikes a modelesque, broken-doll pose, with a hand on her hip while the other hangs in front of her, holding the paintbrush. She bends a knee inward and cocks a hip, and she can hear the crowd getting rowdier as the music starts.

As soon as Betty moves, Sasha bends to dip her brush in red. She flings it over the top part of the canvas in circular globs, and she notices Betty working the bottom of the canvas, swiping it with long, neon green stripes. Perfect. 

The music is strange, but it _does something_ to Sasha. It goes from a very simple beat to an erratic combination of noises with a baseline behind it. She watches as Betty steps away for a moment to dance, but Sasha keeps quick with her hands, taking the gobs of red paint and making them more shapely, more floral. 

The bass rattles through the speakers and Sasha can't help the swing of her shoulders. She grabs a brush with yellow and begins to highlight the red globs, accentuating them from the inside out in a quick, clockwise motion, turning them into roses. Betty comes beside her and shadows under them with a dark blue, and Sasha holds the brush in her mouth, taking a couple of pins out of her bun and shaking her blonde curls loose. A few catcalls come from the audience.

Make it sexy. Right.

Sasha smiles seductively over her shoulder, paintbrush still bit between her teeth, and the crowd cheers again.

The music goes softer again, and Sasha paints beneath Betty, taking the yellow and highlighting the green stripes, giving them texture and making them look like stems with leaves. Betty glances to Sasha, reaching into her pocket and pulling out another can of spray paint. She tosses it to Sasha with a wink.

Sasha sprays the silver just along the tips of the leaves.

Betty pulls a small pair of paint goggles from her suit, holding them out to Sasha with a wicked grin.

“You ready to get crazy?”

Sasha finds herself smiling back at the woman, and nods uncertainly with a shrug of her shoulders, taking the goggles from her. 

Without warning, Betty grabs a couple of brushes, dunking them in the blue and green and flings them across the canvas, splattering long strips all over the bottom half of the painting, hitting the walls, hitting the curtain, hitting Sasha, hitting herself. Sasha scrambles to get the goggles over her eyes, her white shirt now ruined with tiny strips of bright paint.

The crowd gets louder and the beat drops again. The music pounds in Sasha’s ears as she looks at the painting, then back to the audience. She can see Shea and her smile.

Maybe that’s what makes her do it. Maybe.

Sasha doesn’t even realize what’s she’s done until the red paint’s sliding down the canvas and onto the floor, and Betty’s face is _agape_ as she turns to face her. 

Sasha’s jaw goes slack as she glances down to the empty red bucket she holds in her hands.

Betty holds her hands over her head, yelling into the air with a giant smile, and the crowd roars with her.

“Yes, bitch! Yes!”

Sasha chuckles breathlessly and she faces the audience again, and they’re jumping, reaching for her and screaming.

“That’s fucking sickening!” Betty hollers, and she takes Sasha’s arm. “Let me paint you!”

“What?” Sasha asks, her eyes still roaming across the wild audience.

“Let me paint you,” Betty repeats, taking the bucket from her hands.

“Alright, okay,” Sasha nods in agreement, smiling like a fool, high from the adrenaline flowing through her veins.

Funny, how things get lost in translation. Especially when you’re both speaking English.

Sasha thought Betty would paint her-- not paint _her_. 

But there Sasha finds herself, standing center stage, with a bright, fat red stripe painted across her torso. The crowd hushes, and she gasps at the feeling of cold paint seeping through her shirt and touching her skin. She holds her hands out in front of her and looks to Betty, who stares back, unmoving, as if she’s afraid she’s gone too far.

Sasha’s eyes fall back to Shea, who only gazes up at her with wide eyes.

Sasha realizes that this is the pivotal point in the scene. That if this were a movie, this would be the part where it freeze-frames. 

Make it sexy. 

The audience erupts into madness when Sasha rips her shirt apart, the buttons popping off and dropping to the floor. She tears the shirt off and looks to Betty with a smirk, tossing it to the side. Betty smiles and grabs a different brush, this time with blue, and she paints across Sasha’s breasts, over her lacy bra and bared cleavage.

Sasha’s eyes rarely leave Shea’s as Betty paints all over her body. Aja and Peppermint are wild, jumping and hollering, snapping and clapping and pointing, but not Shea-- Shea’s quiet. She stands still, sipping the drink that Sasha had given her, and she watches. She watches Betty pour fresh green paint down Sasha’s front. She watches Betty rip Sasha’s black pencil skirt, going from the bottom all the way up her thigh. She watches Betty bend Sasha over, placing two bright blue handprints on the mounds of her ass.

It’s erotic, and Sasha lets her head fall forward as the paint touches her skin, drips down her thighs, rolls between her breasts. Her breaths grow shallow as she watches Shea watching them, watching Betty touch her, rubbing her hands up and down her body. 

The music slows down, and Betty grabs Sasha’s sticky hand. She walks them back to the painting, and Sasha looks at it for a moment-- it’s beautiful. It’s everything she felt, a marvelous representation of everything she guessed they both felt-- beautiful roses, mauled by a massive explosion of red paint, born of strict impulsion. She meets Betty’s gaze and smiles at her, and Betty nods to her. 

Betty brings their fists into the air as the music stops, and the crowd screams their approval.

Betty beams at Sasha. She holds her arms open and gives her a tight hug, the imprint of Sasha’s paint-covered body staining her suit. She laughs when she pulls back and looks down at herself, shaking her head as she clicks her headset on.

“Let's give it up for Sasha!” she hollers into the mic, and the crowd’s cheers grow louder.

Sasha turns to look at the audience.

It’s an indescribable feeling-- the sound of applause, the waves of people smiling up at Sasha, faces of pure admiration and acceptance. The faces of those who appreciate art. Her chest rises and falls heavily and she waves, and she presses her sticky palms together under her chin, mouthing thank-yous.

Pep and Aja are up in arms, hooting and hollering with bright laughter, and Shea’s clapping with them-- not quite as outrageously, but she smiles at Sasha, gazing at her with a look that Sasha can’t quite place. 

“We’ve got a great show for you tonight,” Betty says with a chuckle, throwing her arm around Sasha’s waist. “We’re gonna get this shit cleaned off. Stick around.”

She clicks her headset off and guides Sasha off the stage.

*****

 

“Thanks.” 

Sasha takes the white robe that Betty offers her, slipping her arms through.

“No problem,” Betty says. She turns to rummage through her bag for a moment, offering Sasha a small towel and a bottle of soap. “That Gojo works wonders,” Betty says with a grin. “Takes the paint right off. Just get a little lather and you’re good.”

Sasha nods gratefully and places the items by the sink. She looks in the mirror to take her goggles off and chuckles-- she’s a mess, covered head to toe in a multitude of colors. She shakes her head and removes her goggles.

Her eyes wander in the mirror as Betty unzips her white suit, revealing a corseted number that sat right under her breasts-- or where they should have been. Instead, Betty has prominent pectorals only covered with pasties, and Sasha furrows her brow as she watches Betty’s muscular thighs flex as she steps out of the suit. Betty catches her confused expression in the mirror and smirks.

“Am I that good?”

Sasha peels her eyes away and diverts her attention to the sink in front of her, turning on the hot water. She stammers as she runs the towel under the faucet.

“What? I don’t-- I don’t know--”

“You act like you’ve never seen a queen before.”

Sasha glances back to meet her gaze, and she blinks rapidly. “I have. I just-- I didn’t know--”

“Don’t worry, I’m not _offended_ ,” Betty chuckles, taking a towel and dabbing at her neck. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Unclockable.”

Sasha laughs through her nose, smiling apologetically.

“You’re a natural, you know,” Betty says plainly, scrubbing at a mark on her cheek. “Out there. You did good.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sasha chuckles as she lathers her face.

“No, you are.” Betty stops for a moment and turns to Sasha, a hand on her hip. “Do you model?”

Sasha shakes her head. “No, not me. But I’m an editor for a magazine, so I’m around them all day.”

“You should try it,” Betty says. “You have a great look.”

Sasha suppresses a smile and swallows. “Thank you,” she says quietly. She wipes the last paint marks from the corners of her nose, and watches Betty through the mirror as she saunters toward her, holding out a stick of eyeliner. Sasha sighs in relief.

“You’re a saint.”

Betty snickers as she hands it to her. She picks up a contour stick from the counter and pulls off the cap. “I’ve been called worse.”

The two of them stand in front of the mirror in silence as they re-apply. Sasha feels more comfortable than she would have thought, standing next to a man dressed like a woman. Betty seems nice-- she seems like a regular person, despite her extraterrestrial makeup and her affinity for women's clothing. It’s interesting, how different things are here than they are in Sasha’s world. 

“So why roses?”

Sasha pulls the eyeliner away and looks at Betty. “Roses?”

“Yeah.” Betty continues to dab the purple contour at her cheekbone. “Why’d you start with roses?”

“Oh. I don’t-- I don’t know,” Sasha says with a shrug of her shoulders. “I, umm, I got really carried away out there. I don’t know why I even picked up that bucket, I’m sorry if I kind of ruined it--”

“No!” Betty furrows her brow and shakes her head, turning to look at Sasha. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t ruin anything-- it was raw, it was perfect.”

Betty seems to search her eyes for a moment. Sasha glances back to the sink, and she smiles shyly as she re-wets her towel.

“There’s a reason why we paint the things we do,” Betty eventually says, turning her attention back to the mirror. “There always is-- sometimes we don’t even know it.”

Sasha nods as she wipes the cloth along her painted arms.

“Like me-- I paint a lot of cellos. Because for a while, that’s all I painted. I went through this phase, for almost a year, actually, every painting I started, no matter what colors I used or how fast or slow I went, it always ended up being a fucking cello. I couldn’t figure it out.”

Sasha laughs and meets her gaze through the mirror. Betty grins and continues.

“But one day, I’m selling my shit on the street, just a fence full of fuckin’ cello paintings, and this crazy motherfucker walks up. I’m talkin’ crazy, wouldn't shut up, psycho-babblin’ kind of guy, and he’s just gushing about my paintings, says he wants to buy them all. Of course he couldn’t, he didn’t have any fuckin’ money, but he did have a cute ass. So what did I do? I gave him one. Just--- ‘here, take it.’ And now--” 

Betty puts the cap back on the contour stick and sets it down.

“Now, that guy’s my husband.”

Sasha smiles as she rings the cloth out over the sink. “That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah.” Betty shrugs and shakes her head, seemingly unable to hide the grin that spreads across her lips. “Turns out he plays the cello, turns out he plays every instrument on the fuckin’ planet.”

Sasha laughs as she runs the cloth down her ankles.

“But I’m telling you, there’s always a reason,” Betty says. She rests a hand gently on Sasha’s shoulder, and the blonde looks up to meet her gaze. Betty nods as if she’s answering a question Sasha hasn’t asked. Then she adds, “And there’s always a way.”

Sasha blinks slowly as she stares back at her.

“There you are!”

Sasha’s heart immediately flutters at the sound of Shea’s voice. She whirls around to see her standing in the doorway, a bright smile on her face.

“Hey!” Sasha says, wiping her hands on the towel and tossing it to the side.

Shea saunters toward her with open arms. “There’s a person under all that paint.”

Sasha lets out a breath of a laugh, circling her arms around Shea’s waist. Shea smoothes Sasha's hair back and looks at her.

“You were amazing.”

Sasha smirks and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you set me up like that.”

“In my defense,” Shea raises an eyebrow and holds up a finger, “it was Aja’s idea.”

“Oh sure, blame Aja,” Betty says.

“You bitch,” Shea chuckles and strolls toward Betty, giving her a light hug and an air kiss on each side of her face.

“Your girl’s got some talent,” Betty says as she pulls back. “She knows how to work a crowd.”

Sasha can feel her cheeks flushing when Shea looks back at her and nods. 

“Yeah, she does.”

After a moment, Betty coughs lightly, making her way to the door. She grabs a bright pink poncho off of the coat rack with a knowing smile.

“Well, I’ve gotta get back out there,” Betty says, giving a short nod to Shea, then letting her gaze drift to Sasha. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Sasha.”

Sasha smiles at Betty, lacing her fingers in front of her. “It was nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again,” Betty quips with a wink, and she hangs on the door for a moment. “Don't be a stranger.”

After she’s gone, Sasha turns to Shea with an incredulous gaze.

“That was--” Sasha runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head, “That was incredible, I can’t even-- I feel like I’m on fire right now.”

“You were somethin’ else,” Shea says quietly as she steps toward Sasha. “I was shocked.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sasha’s chest rises and falls heavily and her eyes dart back and forth across Shea’s face as she processes everything. “I just-- I don’t know what happened. The music, and the lights, and the paint--” she chuckles breathlessly, and her eyes finally meet Shea’s as she steps closer to her. “I just went crazy, I just felt so-”

She’s cut short by Shea’s lips crashing against hers, and none of it matters anymore.

Sasha lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and she wraps her arms around Shea’s shoulders. Shea claims her mouth hungrily, and Sasha shivers at the moan that spills from Shea’s lips into her own. And then she’s hoisted up, Shea’s hands firm on her ass, and her legs instinctively wrap around Shea’s waist as they move to the counter. 

Sasha groans as her back slams against the mirror. Her fingers tangle in Shea’s hair and she’s missed this-- _God_ she’s missed this. She’s missed her smell, her touch, her voice, her laugh, and she wants Shea closer. She drags her nails down Shea’s sides and Shea gasps as she pulls back, her dark eyes heavy with lust. 

“God,” Sasha breathes, searching Shea’s face, running a thumb just under the corner of her eye.

Shea shakes her head and takes Sasha’s face in her hands.

“You’re mine.”

And she reclaims Sasha’s mouth, and Sasha’s lost-- drowning in another world, another life she could somewhere lead. No one has ever made her feel like this-- no one else would ever, or could ever make her feel like this. Shea breaks away to kiss the corner of Sasha’s mouth, then her jaw, eventually leading a trail of hot kisses to Sasha’s ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” Shea whispers. 

Sasha sighs at the feeling of Shea’s hot breath on her skin. 

“What about the rest of the show?” she asks, short-winded.

Shea pulls back and looks at Sasha, a crooked smile forming on her lips.

“ _Fuck_ the rest of the show.”


	3. Dance With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm back from an extremely long hiatus that I never thought I would come back from. Thank you to everyone who has read and remembers this fic. A load of thanks to Dylann.

“I still think we should’ve said goodbye.”

Shea’s smirk illuminates under the street’s dimmed lamplight. “We never would’ve left,” she says. “Trust me.”

Sasha grins. 

It’s relaxed, the pace in which they make their way down the street. Sasha imagines what a sight they must be-- Shea in her bright pink ostrich-feather jacket and thigh-highs to match, and Sasha, in her white coat with the muslin robe underneath, remnant patches of green and blue paint peeking out from under her sleeves. She walks close to Shea, one hand tucked in the crook of Shea’s elbow, the other laced through her fingers. While Shea keeps a firm grip on Sasha’s hand her free hand holds a blunt lazily between her fingers. She puffs on it as they stroll together.

“I like your friends,” Sasha says. “They’re nice.”

Shea chuckles. “Yeah, they’re great,” she says, pearly wisps of smoke curling around her cheeks. “And they just _love_ you. Especially Aja.”

Sasha meets her gaze under her lashes, beaming. “I really like her.”

“I knew you would. I had a feeling you two would hit it off.”

“Did you?”

Shea shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, I mean-- Aja’s super easy to get along with. She’s kinda crazy, kinda weird...” 

The corners of Shea’s mouth turn upward as she trails off, bringing the cigar back to her lips. Sasha narrows her eyes.

“What are you trying to say?”

Shea merely shakes her head on the inhale of smoke, eyes crinkling with her smile.

Sasha tugs on her arm and pulls her closer, “Are you calling _me_ weird?” 

This causes them both to stumble in their heels, and Shea laughs.

The street’s much more alive tonight than Sasha would've expected. It’s half-past one but everyone’s still out-- the sounds of distant cars horns blaring and tires zooming through puddles are softened over the thick layer of smog that hangs above them. People scatter across the street and down the sidewalk, and it’s almost as if everyone’s leaving, or perhaps going to the same place-- as if some big event had just let out this tidal wave of a crowd-- but Sasha’s got a feeling that this might just be the way it is here. That this is what a Friday night, or better yet, a Saturday morning looks like on Fourth Avenue, Brooklyn. 

Sasha’s giddy. She’s always wanted to see the bridge at night. And it’s a rare treat, walking the streets in the early hours of the morning. 

“I really like Peppermint, too,” she adds, letting her eyes wander down the sidewalk. “She’s lovely. The two of you seem very close.”

“We are,” Shea says. “I’ve known Pep a really long time.”

There’s a crowd up ahead, a circle of people outside an arena. A saxophone player. Sasha cranes her neck to see, aiming to be discreet.

“I met her when I was just a kid. I was this--” Shea lets out a breath of a laugh and rolls her eyes. “I was this ratty lil’ club kid, cocky as _hell_. Walkin’ around Brooklyn like I owned the place.”

A smile creeps onto Sasha’s face. Though her eyes strain to see the musician, she can’t help but imagine a young Shea-- reckless and loud-mouthed, parading the streets without a care.

“And _God_ , I was ready to fight,” Shea says in a tone that’s almost fond, reminiscent of her old self. “Ready to fight the world.”

Sasha hums. “That's not always a bad thing.”

“No,” she says, word muffled by a mouth full of smoke. She furrows her brow and flicks the blunt, a white trail darting from her lips. “But it was a front. I was just scared.”

“And Pep, she-- well,” Shea bows her head, “she was the one to take me down a few notches, let’s put it that way.”

A chilly wind whips around the corner and cuts right through them, taking Sasha by surprise. She shudders against it and presses herself into Shea’s side. Shea, without thought, slips her arm from Sasha’s grip and opens her coat. She wraps the smaller woman up against her and they stand for a moment, Sasha shaking the cold off her shoulders. 

Her mouth twitches as she lays her palms flat against Shea’s chest, chin tilting to meet her gaze.

“How did she manage that?” 

Shea takes one last drag of her cigar. As if in mid-thought, she tosses it to the side, shaking her head. She blows a quick stream over her shoulder and shrugs. 

“She took me in.”

A loud cheer erupts from the circle of people up ahead, and Sasha watches Shea’s eyes drift toward them. 

She finds it endearing, how Shea responds so quickly to anything musical. Her body almost immediately begins to rock with the change in the beat that echoes off the pavement.

It’s some modern song, some well-known crowd pleaser that, _of course_ , Sasha doesn’t know, but she can recognize a somewhat familiar tune. Shea raises her eyebrows and pumps her shoulders. Suddenly they’re drawing nearer to the crowd, Shea’s walking backwards and taking Sasha with her, pulling her in and giving her a spin. Sasha laughs.

There are others all around them. No one seems to have a thought of who will see or what they look like, there’s no proof that anyone really cares-- only the occasional whoop and holler from onlookers, maybe a burst of laughter from someone dancing or the rich sounds that come from the sweating man and his saxophone.

Sasha goes with it. 

“So you lived together, then?” Sasha asks, glancing over her shoulder as she spins. “You and Peppermint?”

“We did,” Shea say with a nod, pulling her back in. “She let me stay with her for about a year.”

Sasha smiles. “That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah, it is. Well,” Shea trails off, giving a short chuckle, “It is. And I think-- I think she needed me just as much as I needed her. If that makes sense.”

Sasha tilts her head for a moment, considering. “It does.”

The saxophone player suddenly rushes past the two of them. He keeps a steady rhythm, motioning for a few people to scoot out of his way. 

He breaks free from the circle and catches up to a woman who had tried to get by unnoticed. He falls to his knees in front of her and the crowd cheers. The blushing woman stands there, a helpless smile on her face as the man plays a swanky riff. Shea laughs. 

“Yeah, umm,” she shakes her head, and her eyes follow him. “It was just-- I was going through a lot. I’d just moved, and that was a big change.” She slows her dancing to a steady tap of her foot, standing beside Sasha and eyeing the man with amusement.

Sasha watches him too, watches him dance his way back into the circle. She claps with the others as he goes into a full free-style on his instrument, pulling more cheers from the crowd.

“And she was dealing with a lot,” Shea continues, joining the clap-along. “She’d just transitioned, and she’d lost some friends, so I guess we both just felt very-- very alone, you know?”

Sasha nods. “You were both new to the city?”

“What? No, she lived here.”

“Right, but where did she--,” she trails off as she glances to Shea. In a moment it clicks. 

_“Oh.”_

Sasha blinks. Once, twice, then casts her gaze aside. She can feel Shea’s eyes on her. Her cheeks flush. A silence falls between them, and she knows Shea’s watching her, waiting for her reaction. 

“I didn't--” Sasha stammers, and her eyes flicker up, “‘It’s just-- I didn’t mean, I didn’t-”

“I know,” Shea says, readily. Her eyes aren’t harsh or judging-- they’re just looking back at Sasha.

And it hits her, how important this is to Shea. 

There’s this sort of internal battle surfacing in Sasha’s mind; this struggle to grasp the concept of a transition from one gender to another. It’s not necessarily an idea she’s opposed to, she’s just faced with a familiar urge to remain silent-- because that’s what she does. That's what you do back home. You just don't talk about certain things. 

Shea seems to regard her for a moment. Then she looks away, back to the musician. 

Sasha chews the inside of her cheek. She’s not one to speak without thought but she needs to recover, quickly-- and silence, in this case, would scream disapproval. It would make her look judgemental and intolerant-- so she shakes her head and blinks rapidly before offering the only genuine thing that comes to mind,

“Well, I-- I’m glad she had you.”

Shea looks back at her. Her eyes are hard to read. 

“And I think it's wonderful,” Sasha continues, swallowing hard as she nods. “That you could both be there for each other at a time like that. Really.”

Gradually, the crooked smile forms. Sasha feels her hand being taken, fingers laced and given a gentle squeeze. Sasha squeezes back.

She glances to their laced fingers and watches Shea’s thumb brush her own. She furrows her brow in thought. The moment is raw and Sasha feels naked, feels a strange mixture of awareness and humility -- _humanity_ \-- and after a beat she admits,

“Your world is so different than mine.”

Her voice is quieter than she meant it. Sasha doesn't meet her gaze at first but she can feel it, can feel Shea’s eyes burning into her.

“I know.”

She swallows hard, watching their hands, watching Shea’s thumb.

“But it’s your world too, you know.”

Sasha’s eyes flicker up. Shea’s eyes are warm.

That’s the thing about Shea-- that’s the thing. She’s doesn't ever talk down to Sasha, doesn't ever condescend. Doesn't ever write her off. 

“You’re just as much a part of this as I am,” she continues. “As Pep, as Betty, as any of us.”

The words hang in the air. Her eyes are all over Sasha.

She wants to rush ahead-- past fear and worry-- but Sasha holds herself in the moment. There’s a tightening in her chest and a numbness to her fingers. 

“God,” she breaks into a laugh, runs a hand to shake through her curls. “Tonight has been amazing. I can’t-- I feel so incredible. I feel like… I don’t know, I feel--”

“Alive?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sasha says in a breath. She lets her arm slap against her side. “Yes. I feel like I’m on fire, still-- like I could do anything right now-- do you know what I mean?”

“I get it.”

“Is this how you feel? After you dance?”

Shea chuckles. 

“Oh yeah,” she says, and nods. “Every time.”

The small smile that Shea gives her goes straight to her head. Sasha’s buzzing, she can feel her own grin. She bounces light on her heels and reclaims Shea’s hands.

“Let’s do something crazy.”

She cants a dark brow. “Wh-- like what, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha says with a shrug. “I just want to do something. To remember this night. Something I wouldn’t normally do.”

“You mean you haven’t had enough crazy tonight?”

Sasha’s eyes flicker to Shea’s lips. “Not nearly enough.”

Shea’s smiling sly, hips tilting in. “Alright,” she murmurs, fingertips leaving Sasha’s palms to wander up her forearms. “What did you have in mind?”

Shea leans in, gripping Sasha by the elbows. Sasha keeps eye contact, determined to maintain her composure. She tugs at Shea’s ostrich feathers.

“Let’s get a tattoo.”

Shea laughs, throws her head back. Her hair tosses from her shoulders and falls down her back, dark and glossy, and her eyes sparkle when they get back to Sasha.

“What are we, eighteen?” she quips.

“I’m serious,” Sasha says. Shea’s laugh rolls into a hum, and Sasha continues in earnest, “I am. I’ve always wanted one, we should do it-- come _on_.”

Shea shakes her head, chuckling lightly, “I don’t know, let’s just-- not tonight, okay?”

“Why not? Tonight’s perfect.”

“Sasha-”

“We can get something small.” Sasha tip toes her fingers up Shea’s chest, voice dropping to a sultry tone, “Somewhere tucked away, somewhere _private_ , where no one can see except-”

Sasha’s words catch in her throat when Shea stills her hand. Her smile is gone. 

“You know we can’t do that.”

Sasha can feel her own smile fading. 

“Why not?”

Shea sighs and lowers their hands. “Because tattoos are permanent.”

She’s not sure if Shea meant for it to sound so cold because her eyes say otherwise. But it did, and it’s there-- the eight-thousand pound elephant in the room, words crisp and stinging. It’s all Sasha can do to hold her gaze, those shining brown eyes looking back at her with uncertainty. 

The musician finishes his song with a final whine of his sax. 

Sasha takes the opportunity to pull back, to clap with the rest of the crowd. Shea claps too, though her gaze still burns into Sasha’s skin. A few people disperse and Sasha shifts her weight on her heels, pulling her coat tighter.

“You know what I mean.” 

She hears Shea at her side but doesn’t look, only nods. She folds her arms and studies the tip of her pumps. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Do you?” 

Her voice has an all-too-familiar edge to it. 

Sasha rubs at her temple. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say what you want.”

Sasha casts a side glance. Always this; it always comes back down to this, with Shea. The chink in the armor, the crack in the foundation.

She’s just looking back at her, and Sasha’s veins run hot. 

“I just wanted to have _fun_.”

Shea’s face changes, for a blip of a second. Her brows soften and her lids flutter. Sasha hates herself for it. Immediately. 

It was always supposed to be fun. 

Sasha’s eyes fall closed when Shea looks away. 

It never gets easier, this thing between them. 

The closer they are, the more volatile it becomes; like a landmine, waiting under the surface. Where logic tells her to let go the heart tells her to cling-- grip and rip with talons if that’s what it takes. And if she dares to let go, Shea won’t. She’ll be there, holding on and gripping just as hard.

A hollow chuckle and Shea nods. “Yeah,” she says, scuffing her heel against the pavement. “Me too.”

That landmine is all Sasha can think about. She fixes her gaze on the saxophone player, watches him dab his sleeve against his sweaty forehead. He starts a new song-- a slower song, a tune that sounds familiar but doesn’t seem to follow any real tempo. She feels Shea’s hand against the small of her back.

“Hey.”

Warm breath brushing against her ear. Sasha feels her shoulders relax, feels herself leaning into it. “We don't-- I’m sorry. Let’s not do this now.”

Sasha turns into her. “Don’t be sorry,” she all but whispers, shaking her head, “you're right.”

She watches Shea’s face, re-masked; almost stony as she watches the musician. Her mind is far away, running too fast for even smoke to catch. The bridge over her shoulder smiles at Sasha, flashes it’s silver teeth. 

“You ready?”

Shea hums, watching the man. 

“For the bridge. You ready?”

Her eyes linger before meeting Sasha’s, and still she’s only halfway here. She roams over her features like she’s trying to memorize them. Then, in a breath,

“Dance with me.”

Sasha pauses, waits. She waits for Shea to laugh, to shimmy and play. She doesn’t. She opens her palm, and Sasha takes it without second thought.

Shea pulls her close. Their fingers lace between them, pressed against their chests, and Shea snakes an arm around Sasha’s waist. Sasha smiles when Shea presses a kiss to her temple. 

She doesn't know long they dance on the sidewalk. Shea rocks them gently to the hum of the saxophone, the velvety sounds buzzing between their heels and the pavement. She doesn't know when she first nuzzles into Shea’s neck, or when Shea starts to hum along. She doesn’t know when her eyes close. She doesn't really know how to be led, or how that works.

She doesn’t really know how to do any of this, or how any of it works.

She thumbs at the feathers of Shea’s coat while she muses, gazing at the glowing bridge in the distance. She relishes her scent-- warm vanilla with a hint of smoke-- and she makes a point to miss it just in case. Because something’s in the air tonight, and Sasha can't be sure if this is an open or a close. 

 

******

 

The bridge is quieter than the street was. It's darker than she’d imagined. 

It’s a longer walk than she was admittedly ready for.

“Did you ever get worried about getting mugged?” Sasha asks, looking over her shoulder.

“Umm.. no, not really,” Shea says. “I was always more worried about a heel going between the boards.” 

Sasha catches her eye and she’s smirking, hands shoved in her pockets. She shrugs and tilts her head, “Which I'm just as equally concerned with now, actually.”

The bridge is breathtaking, to say the least. 

It’s nothing to that of the architecture Sasha’s used to-- in comparison it could be considered quite simple. But it’s old, and it’s strong. It speaks to you when you run your fingers along the railing. It holds stories in the grain of it’s wood.

It fills Sasha with an energy immeasurable. 

When Shea stops short and looks to the railing, Sasha furrows her brow.

“What?”

Shea checks over her shoulder, turns back with a grin. She tilts her head toward the railing, and Sasha follows her over. 

“What are you-- _Shea_ ,” Sasha whirls around then back, then leans in, “what are you _doing?_ ”

“Why are you whispering?” Shea dead pans, examining her blade. 

“Because,” she hisses, then clears her throat to full volume. “Because it’s-- it’s illegal to have that.”

“Yeah,” Shea says absently, leaning over the railing and bringing her knife down. “So’s vandalism of public property, but, you know.”

Hands on her hips, Sasha presses her lips together. “Seriously?”

“Hey,” Shea says with a shrug, “you wanted crazy.”

Sasha feels her smile give her away, and she can't help it-- watching Shea scratch away at the metal like a teenager is adorable. She sidles up next to her and folds her arms over the railing. 

“It’s almost like a tattoo.”

The scratching stops and Shea looks up. She’s just on the brink of a laugh but she holds it back, nodding instead. “Yeah, in a way. Yeah.” 

Sasha grins.

She gazes out, onto the dark water. Boats lolling in the distance, quiet waves rippling and lapping against their confinements. The sky is smeared with ashen, streaky clouds, barely visibly against it’s dark canvas. For all the light that the city’s glow would normally give, it’s the moon that’s negligent tonight. The night is uncharacteristically dark without it’s guide.


End file.
